


Social Distance

by Anyawen



Series: fanwork poetry remixes [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fandom Trumps Hate, Gen, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, poetry remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: During his 'hiatus' Sherlock's practice of holding people at arms' length fails. His heart has no armour against the hurts that greet his return. He must rebuild his callouses and keep himself ... distant.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: fanwork poetry remixes [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591081
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Social Distance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iwantthatcoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Callouses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458262) by [Iwantthatcoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat). 



> This is a freeform poetry remix of Iwantthatcoat's gorgeously angsty 'Callouses' fic. I hope I've done it justice. If you haven't read it, go do that now. I'll wait :)

his callouses are both sword and shield  
weapon and armour  
allowing a sort of social distancing even  
when surrounded by a crowd  
or alone, together.

the process of falling apart  
begins in brussels.  
distracting himself with the business at hand  
and pro-forma derogatory thoughts of kin  
he still notices  
the peeling callouses,  
and the shrinking interior distance  
even as the space between them grows -

and grows again.  
a brief stillness brings  
time to think, to yearn, to ache.  
he finds himself  
longing for things both concrete and imagined.  
things left behind, or lost,  
or not even properly begun.  
moving on tomorrow, farther away, further apart  
and still closer.

damaged - but not broken - he returns.  
he composes music  
composes himself.  
ready to play. ready to see. ready to begin again. ready to ...  
ready.

euphoria over an imagined future melts away  
and he wants only to stay close in the new paradigm  
shifted  
the distance between them now both closed and gaping  
vulnerable, soft skin exposed,  
he belongs where now he is unwanted.  
he determines to grow  
within the confines of the space he is allowed

it's better this way  
it's better this way  
it's better this way  
it's  
better  
this  
way  
resigned, he rebuilds his callouses  
more easily on his fingers than his heart

a waltz overheard, injuries exposed  
a confession slips  
into a discussion of language and verb tense.  
it reveals a mutual truth -  
providing a bridge

surely best left uncrossed

surely. surely.  
... maybe?

the door is open  
should he choose to step through it,  
close the distance  
and embrace the reciprocation.

it could be his. theirs.  
could it? couldn't it?

but, no.  
he reads the signs that map out the future  
and the chasm no attachment can span.  
a new life trumps all.

and so he goes  
leaving early to seek both solace and destruction  
from the same bottle,  
he creates new callouses in the  
knots of scar tissue  
dotting the pale flesh in the crooks of his elbows  
wherever they might fit among the old  
anchoring the armour that will, he hopes  
hide his broken state and  
maintain  
his social distance.


End file.
